


Two Kids Without Their Jackets

by HoodEx



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: 27-year-old Dick and 19-year-old Dick from different universes swap places, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Relationships, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dimension Travel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Older Dick has to deal with a Bruce who is more emotionally open, Younger Dick has to deal with a Bruce who is more emotionally repressed and less trusting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoodEx/pseuds/HoodEx
Summary: Two universes. Two Dick Graysons. Two very different Bruce Waynes.27-year-old Dick finds himself transported into a universe with a Bruce who is warm, trusting, and emotionally open.19-year-old Dick finds himself transported into a universe with a Bruce who is cold, mistrustful, and emotionally repressed.Navigating a relationship with a Bruce who acts differently from their own Bruce is one thing. Trying to get back to the universe they call home is another.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 39
Kudos: 251





	1. Older Dick

Dick stares at the ceiling of his darkened bedroom for what feels like forever before the alarm on his phone starts going off. The Backstreet Boys song that Babs had set as his default alarm fills the room with a chorus of, “ _Everybody! Rock your body right! Backstreet’s back alright!_ ” 

He normally tries to shut the obnoxious song up as soon as it goes off, but, well, there isn’t really anything normal about Dick’s current situation, and he figures that letting the song play out for a little longer than usual might curb his feelings of homesickness.

It fades into background noise as he flings off the covers and rolls out of bed, wincing as his bare feet meet the chilled wood floor. He blindly turns in the direction of the Alexa device and—wait. It’s called Cora in this universe, not Alexa. 

Right. 

“Cora, turn on Dick’s bedroom lights,” he says to the small white device that’s sitting on the bedside table. Cora glows green to indicate that she heard the demand, and the lights flicker on immediately. 

Dick squints at the sudden brightness and stumbles his way into the bathroom for a piss and a quick shower. It takes him all of ten minutes to finish. After he dries his hair with a towel, he heads to the closet and surveys the small selection of clothes that are all in his size but aren’t actually _his_. That’s made obvious by the fact that all the shirts are neutral colored, many of the pants are ripped at the knees, and any form of outerwear consists mostly of hoodies. 

At 27-years-old, Dick can’t imagine himself wearing ripped jeans. He knows from what Alfred told him when he arrived here that this universe’s Dick is only 19. Still, even when Dick was that age, he’d been wearing outfits that were considered more fashionable. 

He figures the casual wear has something to do with the fact that this universe’s Alfred and Bruce are way more laid back in both manner and appearance than his own. Just yesterday, Bruce had been wandering around the kitchen in nothing but briefs and a t-shirt, something Dick’s Alfred would definitely not have been pleased about.

He grins at the memory and surveys his options one last time before pulling on some light wash jeans and a beige colored Stussy shirt. He goes for a watch next—this Dick is apparently a watch guy because he’s got like six of them—and while he’s in the middle of fastening it to his wrist, he’s startled by Cora suddenly glowing green and emanating the sound of a bell ringing. 

Alfred’s pre-recorded voice then comes through the speaker and says, “Breakfast is ready. Please make your way downstairs before it gets cold.” 

Dick has to admit that out of all the things that are different about this alternate universe, having Alfred take full advantage of Cora’s abilities is one of the most amusing. Also, weirdly convenient. He’ll have to see about teaching Alfie how to use Alexa when he gets back home. 

The Backstreet Boys are finally silenced once Dick turns off the alarm. He shoves his phone in his pocket before following the heavenly scent of food towards the kitchen. 

The first thing he sees when he walks in is Bruce is sitting at the table with a tablet, no doubt reading this morning’s news. He’s already dressed in a black polo with the Wayne Enterprises crest embroidered on the breast. It’s tucked into a pair of gray trousers that are nicely tapered and draw attention to his suede penny loafers. Bruce’s hair is already neatly styled into place, and as Dick takes a seat across from him at the table, the smell of spicy cologne hits his nose. He can’t help but feel a little sad that the cologne isn’t the same as what his Bruce wears. 

Bruce sets the tablet to the side when Dick finally settles in his seat. His soft blue eyes roam over Dick’s face in a way that Dick’s come to be familiar with since landing in this universe. He figures it’s because he looks a little different than 19-year-old Dick and that Bruce is probably curious about what his boy will look like in eight years. Either that or he just misses his kid in the same way Dick misses his Bruce. 

“Morning, Dick,” Bruce greets with a smile, his tone rather chipper. 

Bruce’s upbeat attitude and smiles had thrown Dick off when he’d first arrived in this universe, not having seen his own Bruce act like that since it was just the two of them against the world. 

“Good morning, Master Dick,” Alfred greets while he gathers two plates from the marble island in the middle of the kitchen. He’s decked out in his white apron which looks pristine as always. 

“Morning,” Dick says. He reaches for the carton of milk in the middle of the table and carefully pours it into the glass that’s been preset next to his placemat. 

Alfred swoops in with the two plates and places one in front of Dick and the other in front of Bruce. Dick nearly curses in excitement when he sees what it is. 

“A full English breakfast, Alf? Aw, you shouldn’t have,” he says, and his stomach rumbles loudly as if telling him to shut up and just eat. “But I’m _so_ glad you did.”

“Me too,” Bruce says, having already taken a bite out of a sausage. “Thanks, Alfred. This is great.”

Dick hums in agreement and quickly works on lathering his bread with some of the beans, meat, and eggs.

“Thank you, sirs. I figured Master Dick might like it, seeing as he mentioned it’s something my counterpart enjoys making.”

“You figured right,” Dick says after he finishes swallowing a mouthful. “Back home, I’d eat one of these plates so fast that Alfie would get all Shakespeare on me.” With a switch in accent and tone, Dick imitates Alfred and says, “‘He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his!’” 

Something like pride fills his chest when both Bruce and Alfred’s faces scrunch up in laughter. Bruce’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and Alfred covers his mouth with his hand to hide his amusement. 

Dick’s just glad they have something like Shakespeare to relate to even though he knows that this universe’s William Shakespeare only wrote half the number of plays that are in Dick’s universe. Not seeing the recognition on Bruce and Alfred’s faces when he had quoted _Romeo and Juliet_ at them the other night had broken his heart since it's a staple in his family.

“Sounds like Alfred alright,” Bruce grins. 

“I’ll have to save that for when our Master Dick returns,” Alfred says, looking both fond and sad at the reminder of his missing boy. 

“He’ll get a kick out of it,” Bruce nods, looking equally as wistful. 

Dick shifts uncomfortably in his seat at the blatant display of affection for his counterpart. He can’t help but wonder if he’s being missed just as strongly back home. If he is, he’s sure it’s not being expressed as openly as this. Well, he likes to think that Babs, Tim, and Damian might have something to say about it in their own ways. 

Alfred clears his throat to dispel the sudden quiet that falls over them. “Excuse me, sirs. I’ll be eating my own breakfast in the other room.”

“Going to catch up on watching You Just Got Served?” Bruce asks knowingly. 

“What’s that?” Dick asks.

“A morning gossip show in the UK,” Bruce says, taking a sip of his coffee to no doubt hide his smirk from Alfred’s piercing gaze. 

“Gossip,” Alfred practically scoffs as if offended by the idea that he could ever find such a thing enjoyable. He grabs his plate and cup of tea from the counter, and before he leaves the kitchen, Dick hears him mutter, “If I wanted to be entertained by _gossip_ of all things then I would spend my days reading tabloids with your face plastered across them, Master Bruce.” 

“Ohhh, burn!” Dick cackles while mentally high fiving Alfred and his quick tongue. 

Bruce cocks an eyebrow. “Burn?”

Right. Universe differences. 

“Where I’m from it’s something you say when someone else gets mocked or teased but, like, in a playful way.”

“Oh,” Bruce says quietly, eyes raised to the ceiling like he’s thinking. “I don’t know if we have a word like that here. I’ll have to ask Dick when he’s back.”

Dick hums in acknowledgment and falls quiet. His mind is a little occupied by all the food that’s still sitting in front of him, and he can tell that Bruce is the same way. Both of them are happy to sit in comfortable silence while they finish off the majority of their meals. 

It’s only when Dick is washing most of it down with his milk that Bruce suddenly asks, “You sleep okay, Chum?” 

Dick pauses at the question. Not because Bruce refers to him by the same nickname that his own Bruce calls him on occasion, but because the nickname is said with a soft look that Dick hasn’t seen on his own Bruce’s face in god knows when. He’s not sure what prompted the question, but he guesses he must look a bit rough for Bruce to bring it up. 

“Kind of,” Dick admits with a shrug. He places his glass back on the table and then continues to dig into the scraps on his plate. 

“Nightmares?” Bruce prods after chewing a mouthful of baked beans. His eyes are trained on Dick, and they’re unguarded in a way that his Bruce’s rarely are. It’s obvious he’s concerned, and Dick feels slightly touched that this Bruce who isn’t his dad is worried about him. 

Dick’s fringe flops in his face when he shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “My mind just wouldn’t shut up.”

Bruce hums. “Thinking about home?”

“Yeah,” Dick sighs. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair. “Mostly just thinking about what I’m going to do if things go wrong in my universe and my Bruce isn’t able to implement the protocol.”

The protocol in this particular situation, as Dick had explained to Bruce the first night he showed up in this universe, involves a ten day wait period. He’s to standby and wait for his Bruce to get either Zatanna or Doctor Fate to open a dimensional portal to take Dick home. If they don’t come within the first ten days of Dick’s arrival, Dick is supposed to seek out the closest thing this universe has to a magic user. 

On one hand, Dick is lucky that he ended up in a universe that has a non-hostile Batman who’s willing to help him. On the other hand, he’s completely fucked in that this universe’s Zatanna is on a deep space mission and isn’t due to return for another month. The League is also apparently not on good terms with Doctor Fate here, and while it’s not out of the question that they can eventually get him to help, Dick’s been told that it will be extremely difficult. 

Dick knows that Bruce has already been looking into other options, desperate to get his own Dick Grayson back. For now, they’re mostly relying on Dick’s Bruce to make a successful swap. 

“We’ll figure it out, Chum,” Bruce says with a comforting smile. “Worst case scenario, we wait a month for my Zatanna to get back.”

Dick bites his lip. “And if she dies on the mission?” 

Bruce’s face shifts into a closed off expression that’s familiar to Dick but looks weirdly out of place on this Bruce’s face. “Like I said… we’ll figure it out.” 

Dick’s mouth twists into a frown at the answer that is, frankly, not good enough for him. The only thing that keeps him from pushing the issue further is that he can tell Bruce isn’t satisfied with his answer either. 

Dick decides to back off… for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this on Tumblr and originally only had this chapter. Then I decided to do 19-year-old Dick's POV as well. And now I'm wondering If I should flesh it out even more. But y'all can let me know if you'd be interested in that after the next chapter. 
> 
> Hope you guys liked it!


	2. Younger Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrightyyy, here's 19-year-old Dick's POV!

“Grayson, what on earth are you doing?” 

Dick turns his attention away from the meat lover's pizza he’s slicing to look over his shoulder at the kid who’s standing in the middle of the kitchen and giving Dick a disapproving glare. The kid, Damian, has his arms crossed over his long-sleeved shirt, and the way his shoulders are slightly hunched makes him look like a prickly, uncomfortable little cat. Dick would like to think the discomfort comes from the pair of beige chinos the kid is wearing, but if there’s anything he’s learned during his short time in this universe, it’s that Damian isn’t just any ordinary kid. That seems to cross over into how the kid likes to dress himself. 

Dick motions to the pizza with the pizza cutter in his hand. “Making pizza. Want a slice?” 

“What I _want_ ,” Damian says with a curled lip, “is for you to stop prancing around here in an indecent state.” He looks pointedly at Dick’s bare chest as if Dick’s exposed pecs are an offensive faux pas. 

Dick cocks his hip against the counter and mirrors Damian’s crossed arms. 

“ _That’s_ what’s got your thong in a knot?” 

It’s only after he’s said it that Dick remembers that particular expression isn’t used in this universe. He’d found that out real quick the other day when he’d used it. 

Tim had given him a confused look and asked, “Don’t you mean ‘don’t get your panties in a twist?’” 

The kid had then started rambling about how the original phrase involved knickers and was created by the Brits and, well, Tim had reminded him so much of an excited puppy that Dick had just ruffled the kid’s hair after the explanation and gone on his way. 

“Richard would never walk around without a shirt unless he was downstairs or in his apartment!” Damian says hotly. 

_Oh_ , Dick thinks, _he just misses his big brother_. 

He’d been informed about his 27-year-old counterpart—who he’s secretly been referring to as DG in his head—by Damian the first night he’d arrived in this universe. From what he’d heard, DG _did_ sound kind of awesome. At least, Damian had made him sound that way after explaining that DG had been his Batman. What was _less_ awesome was learning the reason DG became Batman in the first place. 

Dick’s only slightly ashamed to admit that when he’d been left to the guest room he’d been given, he’d teared up imagining his dad dying and taking all the comforting warmth from the manor with him. 

Even now, the thought of his dad’s death makes his mood sour. He tries not to let it show as he turns back to his pizza to move a few slices over to the plate he prepared. 

“When your brother gets back, you can sing his praises for wearing a shirt. Me? I’m gonna keep doing my thing because no one’s gonna die from me not wearing a shirt.”

Dick doesn’t even have to be looking at the kid to know he bristles about one of the things Dick just said. 

“Father and Pennyworth will not be pleased!” 

Dick shrugs and moves to place the pizza cutter in the dishwasher. “They can tell me if it’s a problem.” 

“ _I’m_ telling you it’s a problem,” Damian says, and Dick smoothly evades the fingers Damian tries to grip his arm with. Dick returns to his spot at the counter and grabs his plate in one hand and a single piece of pizza in his other. 

“And _I’m_ telling you to take a slice of pizza. Last chance.” Dick holds the slice out like some kind of peace offering. 

The look of disdain Damian gives him reminds Dick of a wolf with its teeth pulled back in a threatening snarl. 

“I’m a vegetarian,” Damian says through gritted teeth. 

“You are?” And now Dick kind of feels like an asshole. “My bad, kumquat.”

“Tt!”

Damian marches out of the kitchen with all the rage of a thousand women scorned, and Dick breathes a sigh of relief once he disappears. 

He can’t wait to be an only child again. 

It’s only when he’s settled in the living room with his pizza and drink sitting on the coffee table that he tries to imagine himself being a big brother. As Starling, he had to deal with kids all the time. Comforting them when they were scared, entertaining them when they needed a distraction, giving them first aid when they were hurt, and holding their hands while waiting for the parents to collect them. 

The only kid he knows personally that he’s always been fond of is J’onn’s daughter, K'hym. He’s taken her to the trampoline park a few times, always given her over the top gifts for her birthday, and will gladly give her a piggyback ride when she shyly asks for one. He likes teaching her things too. His chest is always filled with pride and purpose whenever she learns something she didn’t know before all because of him. And the smile he always gets whenever she excitedly wraps her arms around his legs and loudly proclaims how much she missed him? There’s nothing better. 

He tries to imagine doing all that _and more_ with four siblings and… he thinks he might like it. He thinks he might be _good_ at it if given the chance. Hell, DG seems to be pretty good at it if the way Tim and Damian talk about him with affection and admiration is any indication. 

A frown crosses his face as he thinks about sharing his dad and Alfred with a bunch of other kids. It’s always been just the three of them since he’d been adopted at 4-years-old. Dad’s never shown interest in adopting more kids, probably because Dick’s always been a bit of a handful. Dad’s always been good at combating that by challenging him and keeping his mind sharp, but would he even have time to do stuff like that with Dick if there were more kids in the picture? 

Dick wishes he could use this universe’s version of his dad to get some perspective on that. The problem is that Bruce is so different from his dad that he doesn’t think it’ll be a fair comparison. Plus, Bruce’s DG isn’t here so it’s not like Dick can watch them interact anyway. 

It simmers on the back burner of his mind as he digs into his pizza and flicks on the TV. He surfs through the channels and ends up stopping on some show called _Supernatural_ that’s got bad acting and janky special effects. He’s only able to watch it for half an hour before his leg starts bouncing out of boredom. 

He spends the rest of his day in the cave alone while Bruce is at someplace called the Watchtower to finish making plans with Zatanna. There’s not anything productive for him to do since Bruce doesn’t trust him enough to use the big ass computer or the multiple other monitors that are down here. 

Dick takes his time checking out all the cars and motorcycles that come in all different shapes and sizes. Most are sleek and black, and a few have red or white accents. He mostly finds himself drawn to the bikes. He can appreciate a good bike, and he wonders if DG is the same way. 

Damian comes down from time to time, claiming to be keeping Dick company. Dick’s not fooled by the lie. He’s come to realize that Damian is just as wary of him as Bruce is, and he knows Damian just wants to keep an eye on him. Dick doesn’t blame the kid. It’s smart not to trust him. Smart, but annoying. He just wishes Damian would at least _pretend_ to hide his intentions better by actually interacting with him rather than awkwardly skulking in the darkness. 

Dinner ends up being a lonely affair. Damian congratulates him for finally putting on a shirt and then makes himself scarce. Alfred busies himself with baking a German chocolate cake rather than sitting to eat with him. Yesterday he’d at least had Tim to sit and talk with at the kitchen table. Tim’s not at the manor anymore though, and Dick doesn’t think he’ll get a chance to see him again before he goes back home. 

Dick’s not prepared for the feeling of nostalgia that consumes him while he stuffs his mouth full of steak au poivre. He doesn’t know if it's the sight of all the empty chairs at the table or the silence that gets to him. He just knows that he misses his dad. He misses his Alfred. He misses them all sitting together at the table and talking about their days. He misses his dad’s morning hugs. He misses making dinner with Alfred. He misses having his dad’s undivided attention as they talk about everything and nothing. He misses singing dramatic renditions of Bobby Vinton songs with Alfred in the cave. 

He feels like there’s some integral piece of himself missing. Like these days don’t matter unless they’re shared with his favorite people. It’s ironic considering he’s surrounded by people who look and talk the same as his family but aren’t them in all the ways that matter. It’s almost worse being around his family’s counterparts because it feels like normalcy is close within his grasp when in reality, it’s far away. 

_At least the steak here tastes good_ , Dick thinks disheartedly as he takes his last bite of meat and washes it down with water. 

There’s the sound of soft footsteps coming closer, and Damian suddenly appears in the doorway. He leans against the frame with his arms crossed, pointedly not looking in Dick’s direction. 

“Pennyworth,” Damian says, and he waits for Alfred to look at him before continuing. “Father has returned to the cave and requests his dinner be brought downstairs.”

The homesickness and boredom that’s been swelling in Dick’s chest all day finally come to a head, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s already on his feet. 

“I’ll take it to him!” he says, and if he sounds a little _too_ excited to do such a menial task, well, sue him. He really wants to see his dad. Even if said dad isn’t _technically_ his real dad. They’re both still Bruce Wayne, and that’s enough for him. For now, at least. 

Alfred blinks at him in surprise. Dick’s not sure whether it’s because of the offer itself or the enthusiasm behind it. 

“Are you sure, Master Dick? As our guest, we certainly don’t expect you to—”

“I don’t mind,” he assures, waving off Alfred’s concern. “You’re busy making the cake and it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

Alfred stares at him for a moment longer, and Dick’s not sure what he’s looking for, but whatever it is, it makes his eyes soften and his smile stretch. 

“Very well, sir. I’ll put it all on a tray for you to take down.” 

“Tt.” Damian rolls his eyes, pushing off against the frame and disappearing from sight. Dick kind of hopes he’s not going back down to the cave so that Dick can talk to Bruce without feeling Damian glaring daggers into his back. 

Dick shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels while he waits for Alfred to put everything together. He can’t help but think about how his Alfred always hates it when he rocks like this in the middle of the kitchen, claiming that Dick’s restless energy gives him anxiety.

“Here you are,” Alfred says a minute later, offering the tray to him. Dick’s relieved to note that this tray has a cup holder to keep the drink from spilling. He’ll have to tell his Alfred about it when he gets back home. “You can leave the tray with Master Bruce.”

Dick takes the heavy load that makes his arms strain a little. “Thanks, Alf.” 

He props the tray up on one hand, preferring to pretend he’s a waiter. He used to love pretending to wait on his dad and Alfred when he was a kid. He would grab a random notepad and pen from his dad’s desk, and he would take his dad and Alfred’s orders. Dad usually ordered some kind of fruit, and Alfred would typically request something easy like a bottle of water. Dick would happily carry the items to them on a tray, and once the items were accepted, his dad and Alfred would pretend to pay him and tip him excessively. It was one of Dick’s favorite games to play. 

He’s still smiling from the memory when he gets to the cave, and he tries to tamp it down as he approaches the chair Bruce is sitting at in front of the big computer screen. From what he can see, Bruce is wearing the batsuit without the cowl, and even though his eyes are glued to the screen, Dick can see how his shoulders tense the closer Dick gets. 

“Hey, Bruce,” Dick greets as he places the tray down on the table’s limited free space. “I got your dinner.” 

Bruce stops typing while he looks over the food on the tray with an impassive look. The dark circles under his eyes make the action look more intense than it has any right to be. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, resuming his typing. 

Dick waits for some kind of follow up and frowns when there is none. It creates an awkward tension in the air, and for a brief moment, Dick thinks about slinking back up the stairs without another word. The eagerness in his chest won’t let up though, and he decides to poke and prod a little more. 

“The steak is really good.” He leans against the side of the computer chair, his right hand dangling so that his fingers barely brush Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce stills at the touch for the briefest second. “You guys eat like kings here. Not that I don’t back home or anything. My Alfred’s an amazing cook too. He usually lets dad cook a few nights a week, and dad’s a good cook, y’know? He’s just not _Alfred_ level good. So sometimes dinner can be kind of hit or miss.” 

Bruce finally stops what he’s doing and cranes his head up to look at Dick with an unreadable look that makes Dick shuffle in place. He’s not nervous per se. He’s just… a little unnerved by how hard it is to read Bruce. It’s never this difficult to get a feel for what his dad is thinking. 

What Bruce finally ends up saying is, “I don’t cook.” 

Dick raises a brow. “ _Ever_?” 

“Almost never.” 

“Because you suck?”

Dick _swears_ he sees the corner of Bruce’s mouth tilt up just the tiniest bit. 

“Hn. That’s what I’ve been told.” 

Dick pats Bruce on the shoulder consolingly, the material of the cape feeling rough and heavy against his fingers. 

“I guess we can’t all be Gordon Hamsay’s.” 

Bruce’s brow furrows. “Hamsay? It’s Ramsay in this universe.” 

“Ramsay?” Dick says incredulously. “That sounds _so_ weird.” 

“Hamsay sounds wrong to me,” Bruce shrugs. 

Dick clucks his tongue. “This universe fuckery is too much.” 

“Speaking of which,” Bruce says, and any trace of lightheartedness is snuffed out of his tone. Now he’s all Batman, and Dick feels himself straightening out of habit. “We’ll be able to send you home this time tomorrow.”

Dick smiles, his heart leaping. Images of hugging his parents, sleeping in his own bed, and going out as Skywing flash through his mind. 

“Really?”

“Zatanna pinpointed your universe a few hours ago. We decided to wait to make the switch until tomorrow when Doctor Fate is available to help us.”

Dick curls his fingers in his hair and tugs on the strands, trying to ignore the way his eyes sting. Home. He’s going home! He’s going back to his life! To his people! To his… everything!

“How are we gonna do it?” he asks a little breathlessly. 

Bruce turns away from him and looks back at the computer. 

“That’s classified.”

Dick stiffens when he realizes that Bruce isn't joking. 

“Sorry… _what_?” He doesn’t mean to shout, but he can’t help it because… _what?_ “I’m not allowed to know how I’m getting home?”

“You know Zatanna is involved. What more do you need?” 

“Uh," he hedges carefully. "Details? It would be kinda nice to know you’re not just going to punt me off into the abyss.” 

“That would require trusting you,” Bruce says, and okay, Dick knows as much. But still. _Ow_. 

“And I get that! I just—” He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. “Look. I’m not asking you to give me the exact damn spell we’re going to be using, okay? I just want to know the gist of the plan. Am I going to have to do anything? Am I going by myself? Is Zatanna—” 

“The _plan_ is to take you back to your world tomorrow. End of story.” 

Dick can feel something dark and ugly start to bubble up inside of him. He crosses his arms over his chest and holds on tight to keep himself from doing something childish like shoving Bruce’s rolly chair.

“What? You think giving me even the smallest bit of insight is going to be enough for me to blow up your whole world or something?”

“It could be. You could have sent yourself here to kill us for all I know.”

“Bullshit! If you really believed that, you wouldn’t let me stay here!” 

“Wouldn’t I?” And now Bruce is on his feet and using his height advantage to loom over Dick like a dark shadow. “You think I’d rather have you out in the city where I can’t monitor you?” 

“What I _think,”_ Dick spits, “is that you’re a control freak.”

Dick thinks maybe Bruce has heard that before based on his lack of reaction to it. 

“How many experiences have you had like this back in your world?” Bruce asks, stepping closer. Dick stands his ground, and they’re so close that he can feel Bruce’s body heat. “How many times have you had people from other universes invade your own?”

“I—” Dick scowls. “None.”

“Well, we’ve had our fair share of experiences with evil counterparts coming here to kill us and destroy our universe.” Dick blinks at the fury laced in Bruce’s voice. “So you need to understand that I won’t compromise our safety by giving you information you could use against us.”

Nothing’s funny, but Dick laughs anyway, and it’s like the grinding of a car that won’t start. 

“You know what?” he asks, raking his fingers through his hair so hard that his scalp stings. “My dad would have trusted his friend with the _truth compelling lasso_ to make any alternate counterpart’s intentions clear. But not you, right? You won’t—”

Bruce slams his hand on the table so hard that the black pen holder falls on its side and sends a handful of pens clattering to the floor.

Dick doesn’t even flinch. 

“We’re done here. Upstairs. Now.”

Bruce’s face is cold like a blank mask that’s hard and unforgiving. 

He’s seen his dad look that way at criminals before. Never at him. Never at his son. 

Except he’s not this Bruce’s son, is he? And this Bruce isn’t his dad. This Bruce could never be his dad. Not with a look like that. 

A knot forms in Dick’s throat. He should have stayed upstairs. He would have been bored, and he would have made himself so homesick he probably would have cried, but at least he wouldn’t feel like this. 

Dejected. Sad. Miserable. 

Lonely. 

The worst thing is knowing that the way he feels is partly his fault. 

He came down here looking for his dad, and instead, he got Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuup 19-year-old Dick was Starling instead of Robin, and his current alias is Skywing instead of Nightwing. 
> 
> But lemme know what y'all think about younger Dick. He's very family-oriented like older Dick. Him and his Bruce are hella close though so the relationships are def a bit different. And yuup! He has no siblings! He was adopted by Bruce veryyy young, and since him and his Bruce never had a falling out, Bruce wasn't trying to fill a hole in his life with more kiddos.


End file.
